You Can Run, But You Can't Hide
by Absolutely Fabulous
Summary: Alyssa thought she'd left the Stella and its inhabitants behind when she left them years ago. So no one is more surprised than her when Scipio turns up to her wedding. But that's the least of her worries - someone is determined to kill her. But who?
1. Old Faces

**First of all, I'd like to say thank you to everyone who read and reviewed my last fanfic - I hope you enjoy this one just as much. I'm going to (try to) update regularly; unlike my last one, this _will_ be more than one chapter. I have both read and watched the film version of the Thief Lord, and have borrowed some ideas from both but with different characters added. Disclaimer: I do not own any characters apart from the ones NOT featured in the book: Alyssa, James... etc. I'd rather people didn't use the main ones in their stories without my permission, but you are welcome to use ones like Sara, seeing as she probably never appear again. More characters will pop up as the story develops.**

Flowers. They're the first thing I notice when I enter the room. Their sickly sweet smell lingers in the air, almost as overwhelming as the perfume my maid of honour has drenched me in. "Something borrowed," she explained, as she sprayed the foul stuff. I walk slowly over to the looking glass set in a gold gilt frame on the other side of the room, a simple task made hard by the uncomfortable corset I'm wearing underneath and the new heels which pinch at my feet.

When I stare at my reflection, I see a perfect, pristine woman with not a single hair out of place. Her hair has been teased into a hopelessly elaborate hairstyle to emphasis her slender neck, around which dozens of expensive pearls have been draped. There's no denying the woman I see before me is immaculate in every single way, but she is no more than doll, lifeless and cold. She may be a remarkably pretty doll, but she is a doll nonetheless. Her hair was styled by others, the hideously bulky wedding dress that swamps her chosen by others too . She had no say in the matter whatsoever.

"You look absolutely beautiful!" trills Sara. Does she really think that? Or is she simply trying to kid herself she did a good job?

A hour later, I'm walking down the aisle, accompanied by my fiancé's father. My own father passed away just a few weeks ago, happy to leave me in the care of James Redmond. He and James' father had always been very good friends.

"Everything okay?" James asks when I finally reach the altar. The music had died down now, our friends and family now seated.

"Perfect," I say, smiling at him.

And then I notice him.

I thought I'd long since cut all ties with him, but obviously, I was wrong. Suddenly, I feel faint, and my skin begins to feel cold and clammy, like it doesn't belong to me and I'm wearing someone else's. It's taking all my strength just to stay standing.

_Why? Why couldn't he just leave me alone?_

_***_

_I ran and I ran, not knowing -nor caring- where I was headed. I just needed to be as far away as possible. I eventually ended up by the canal, where I collapsed onto the ground with a heavy heart. Then I cried, until there were no more tears left to cry. What made me think i could ever be happy? That sort of thing never happened to a person like me. Happiness was a long forgotten emotion which was destined to stay locked in a dusty chest, and I was a fool to think I'd finally found the key, after so many years of searching, after so many years of wishing my life was different. I started crying again, this time for the life I'd just lost, because I knew I would not be returning to Stella that night._

_***_

There were moments when my heart ached to see them again, the people who rescued me and helped me, who taught me love and friendship really did exist: clever Hornet, the irresistibly adorable Bo and his older brother, Riccio the hedgehog, Mosca... However, I buried these memories deep in the back of my mind, determined to forget, and as the years passed, my recollections of that remarkable bunch of people grew hazier, their faces blurred as if they were photographs left to disintegrate in a puddle of water. But there was one whose face I'd never forget, and never in my wildest dreams did I expect to see him stand before me again. Yet here he is now, as confident and as handsome as he was six years ago, when I last saw him. The Thief Lord.

My heart pounds, the rapid beating echoing in my ears. Trickles of sweat run down the small of my back. I feel as if there's something pressing down on my chest, preventing air from reaching my lungs. I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe. The voices of concerned relatives barely register; they come distant and unclear. I take one last look at _him_ and then everything goes black.

**By the way, if anyone knows around what year The Thief Lord is set / how old Scipio was in the book before he rode the roundabout, that would be great.**


	2. Of Swords and Swindlers

**For future reference, anything in italics is a flashback.**

_"I could kill you…" The Thief Lord paused, slowly running the point of the sword down the length of the girl's body. He did not like being made a fool of, nor did he like being stolen from. The girl before him was guilty of both crimes._

_She appeared to be rather fragile, as if the slightest blow might make her shatter into pieces, in much the same way as a porcelain figure. It seemed almost cruel to treat her this way, but Scipio had a knack for seeing beneath the complicated network of layers that combine to make up a human being. He saw underneath the girl's soft, friable outer shell, saw the tough interior within. It took guts to delve into someone's pockets and attempt to extract any valuables lurking in them, as she had done so readily earlier that day. It was so easy to brush against your unwitting victim, so easy to alert them to your presence. You had to be swift yet careful, or risk being caught in the act. That took talent, and boy, did this girl have it. _

_"But it would only lead to awkward questions. Besides, it would be a shame to lose such a good pickpocket." Scipio withdrew the weapon and smiled warmly, an expression which was not returned. Instead, the girl just stared up at him, her brown eyes wide and fearful. They looked at Scipio with a mixture of apprehension and mistrust. She looked terrified, and her breathing was heavy and deliberate, as if it took a tremendous amount of effort to do such as simple task as inhaling and exhaling. Scipio sighed. He'd always been so good at reading people, but maybe, just this once, he'd gotten it wrong. Perhaps this girl really was as weak and as feeble as she appeared to be. It was unusual for something like this to happen, but not unheard of._

_"Oh, come on now," Scipio said, exasperated. "I wasn't really going to- " He was interrupted when the girl suddenly collapsed onto the cobbled pavement without warning. Two passer bys eyed him accusingly but hurried along, unwillingly to get involved._

_"I didn't even touch you!" Scipio cried out incredulously, scanning the area around him. Then, he knelt down to inspect the now unconscious body lying on the floor in front of him, and placing two fingers on the girl's neck, he felt for a pulse. It was there, but incredibly weak. Weird. Scipio gently tilted the girl's face so it was facing him. She looked eerily pale, like a ghost of the forgotten dead. She might have been pretty, but any beauty she had one had had now all but vanished. You could just about make out her cheekbones, so gaunt and sickly was she. Scipio carefully prised her eyelids open, he saw big brown eyes that he had only ever seen on a startled deer, just before his austere father had so cruelly shot it, snatching away precious life from the timid, beautiful creature. The six year old Scipio had cried his eyes out that day, both for the deer's sudden death, and his own mother's untimely demise. This only enraged his father further, and he shouted at Scipio to grow up and behave like a man. Just like the poor deer, the spark had dissipated from this girl's eyes, and it saddened Scipio to look. This girl had seen things she should not have seen, she had experienced things which no girl her age should ever go through, and she had been aged prematurely by hardship and adversity._

_Scipio stepped backwards in shock as he realised a thick dark red liquid was seeping out from underneath the girl's body. It spread out onto the ground like a spilt glass of wine, staining the cobblestones crimson. Scipio cautiously rolled the girl's frail body._

_"What the-" He cursed out loud as he delicately unpeeled the girl's clothing back to reveal a deep wound in her lower stomach, from which blood flowed freely. Of course! He had been so stupid. Scipio cursed again. He didn't know how long it had been since the girl had first obtained this dreadful injury. Hours? Days? Had it even been there during their first encounter? How could he not have noticed before? Who had done this to her? The questions raced in his mind, like a swarm of locusts._

_The Thief Lord frowned. Today was going to be a long day._

**Well? What do you think? Well don't sit there, talking at the screen! It. Can't. Hear. You. Review and help me make an even better chapter next time.**


	3. Out of the Darkness

**Sorry for the haziness of details. I hope you enjoy my latest offerings and don't forget to review!**

I wake up feeling dazed and disorientated. Bright shafts of sunlight shine through the window, without the curtains slowing their journey down, acting as a barrier. The harsh light makes my eyes sting so I recoil, shrinking backwards. How long have I been here? Minutes? Hours? I slowly stretch my arm, reaching out for a surface to steady myself on and then retract it almost immediately.

"Aargh!" I yelp, instinctively moving backwards with a jolt as my hand comes into contact with human flesh. I turn round abruptly and then groan as I realise the last person I want to see is sitting beside me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, outraged.

"Is that any way to treat an old friend, _Alyssa_?"

"Get the fuck out of here, Scipio. You're not welcome."

"Just relax," he says calmly, reaching out to stroke my hand. I flinch away before he has a chance to even touch it. "You need rest; you're not thinking straight."

"I know perfectly well what I'm saying," I practically snarl, standing my ground. It sounds so feral, it shocks me. Scipio's eyes drift momentarily, and a hint of sadness appears in his eyes.

"Do you?" he questions, and I blink, taken back. Several times, I try to reply, try to respond, but each time I open my mouth, the words don't come out, and I can't quite meet his eyes. I look at him more closely, take in his clean cut appearance - his midnight black air, his angular face, the arrogant smile… I frown. He looks…_ different_, somehow…_older_?

"What?" he says, noticing me staring at him pensively. His interrogative tome has dissipated, replaced by mild suspicion and narrowed eyes. I blush, embarrassed.

"It's nothing," I answer quickly. "It's just… You've changed so _much_."

Immediately, his smile disappears, and his face turns serious. Gone is the usual the relaxed, care free air about him. "I took a ride on the merry go round** (this is where the proper would go… if I knew it.)**, Alyssa."

I scoff. "Don't be stupid, Scipio. The merry go round's just a myth. Everyone knows it isn't real." **(Let's suppose the merry go round was part of a well known story that was told to her when she was growing up.)**

"Isn't it?" Scipio says, his voice unfaltering.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! What do you take me for? Some kind of mug? I'm not falling for your lies this time round."

"I'm not lying!" he insists, and I want to believe him, honest to God, I do, but I can't, and I never will.

"I thought I made it perfectly clear to you that I never wanted to see you again," I say frostily, ending the conversation."

"Denny…" Scipio pleads, looking pained.

His heartfelt expression makes me feel uneasy, especially when I look at his eyes. They're big and brown, like that of a dog's, enough to make anyone's heart melt. Anyone except me, that is. No way am I going to let him guilt trip me. Not after what he'd done. Thankfully, the door suddenly opens, and I am spared the discomfort of looking at him any longer. It seems as though he has the ability to stare right into my mind and see all my private thoughts, the way his chocolate eyes bore into me.

"James!" I cry out. striding towards my partner. He pats me on the arm hesitantly, and it suddenly dawns on me what has just happened. "Oh, no…" I muttered, horrified, realising that all those days spent planning the ceremony, picking out flowers and food, all those painful hours spent trying on the most hideous wedding dresses whist dozens of seamstresses fiddled and fussed over me, prodding me with needles and ordering me to stop fidgeting… They were all for nothing, in the end. It had all been a complete and utter waste of time. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Scipio smirking as he lurks in the corner of the room. I glare at him contemptuously.

"James, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't worry about it. I've already spoken to the vicar, we can always arrange another service." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He seems distant, detached. "Are you okay?" he asks, this time managing to inject a little feeling into his words. He sounds concerned, and I snuggle up to him, grateful for his warm, inviting presence. As we hug, James finally notices Scipio still lingering in the corner. He frowns.

"Who are you?" James inquires, his voice full of mistrust.

"Please, I'm… an old friend. I merely wanted to see if Alyssa was alright."

"I don't remember her ever mentioning you … Come to think of it, I don't remember inviting you. What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't," Scipio answers frostily, with a steely gaze.

Suddenly, we are interrupted the sound of a dull thud. James and Scipio do not move, assuming something has been knocked, a painting detached from the wall, perhaps, but I know instinctively that something has caused the noise. I break away from James' grasp, straining my ears for any other sounds, whilst James stares at me quizzically. I walk over to the doorway, scanning the empty corridor for any clues which might lead me to the source of the thud. James stares at me quizzically, but follows, as does Scipio. The three us eventually trace noise to the banqueting hall, and a sorry sight meets our eyes. The small body of a young boy rests on the chequered floor. On closer inspection, I recognise the child to be Arrigo de Luca, James' cousin. He doesn't seem to be moving, and a familiar trickle of fear slivers down my spine. I dash to his inert body, leaving James and Scipio to remain frozen in the doorframe, and feel for a pulse. There isn't one.

"He's dead," I whisper hoarsely, my vision blurring as tears form in my eyes.

Minutes later, James and I are stood in one of the back rooms, surrounded by family and friends who have flocked to mourn the untimely death of Arrigo. Scipio is longer with us, and I hope he never returns.

I've always thought Arrigo to be some spoilt brat; cushioned from the outside world by his overindulgent parents, who pampered him and showered him with extravagant gifts, he was a far cry from Prosper's sweet and endearing brother, Bo. But as I look at him now, his lifeless body lying on the floor, all the colour drained from his face, I feel nothing but sorrow, sorrow for a life cut short before it had been properly lived. So many missed opportunities, so many faces he would never see, so many places he would never visit… It makes my heart break just to think about it. Gone are any hateful memories of a spiteful boy who terrorized the servants and behaved appallingly in public. No, Arrigo de Luca is an angel now, a sweet and innocent child who would never harm a fly. I'm almost expecting to see snow white feathers sprout from his back, or a golden halo, radiating light. The willowy figure of Greta de Luca, James' aunt, is hunched over a small figure, crying her eyes out. On the rare occasions she looks up, I see that her normally immaculate make up is a mess, mascara running as tears cascade down her cheeks, and strands of hair stick out of her elegant bun.

The love of a mother. Such a powerful thing. But although it can give you strength during difficult times, I can just as easily tear you apart, leaving your dignity in tattered shreds.

***

Scipio stood in the banqueting hall, looking down at his scuffed shoes, which seemed to sully the hall's perfect appearance just by being there. All the rooms were exactly like this one: lavishly decorated with ornate looking glasses set in gold gilt frames, with expensive murals hung on the walls. He guessed that the amount of money spent on the frames alone was enough to keep the whole population living in the Venetian slums in clean clothes and supply them with food and uncontaminated drinking water for at least a year. But that didn't matter to the building's creators, so long as every room was kept pristine, to reflect the equally flawless people who dwelled in them.

The people… They were all so fake, so false! He knew Alyssa had come from a wealthy background, but even so, he couldn't imagine her enjoying being in the company of people like those who had gathered here today. Yes, she had been born rich, but that hadn't been her choice. In Scipio's mind, Alyssa was like a flower: beautiful, but delicate. And whereas she was compassionate, and caring, and kind, these people had hearts made of stone, unfeeling and emotionless. They cared for nought but their appearances and their wealth.

A shadow slowly approached Scipio, stopping just behind him. Probably someone who worked here, who had come to tell him off and order him to leave, he thought dully. Well, they could go to hell, for all _he _cared. What did it matter to _him _if eh was dirtying their precious floors? Scipio turned around, the beginnings of an insult already forming in his head. The figure in front of him shook his head sadly.

"I warned you about coming here."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Victor," Scipio apologised, hanging his head in shame. Victor had been right for once. He should never have disobeyed him. "I just wanted to…" He stopped. Wanted to what? Sensing his disappointment, Victor placed a comforting arm around his shoulder.

"The heart make us do foolish things. I don't blame you, Scipio. I probably would have done the same."

"I just thought that…" Realising that he yet again had no end to the sentence, Scipio cried out in frustration, and kicked out, venting his anger at the wall. He was satisfied to see bits of marble crumble away. It was beautiful, but brittle.

"It was _three years ago_," Victor continued. "People move on. If she had wanted to talk to you, she would have found you herself. She _knew_ where to look."

"And what about Ida?" Scipio interjected furiously. "You know where to find her! And yet you do nothing, say nothing, when all the time your heart begs to be with her. You think _she_ would have moved on, if she'd known?" Victor did not retaliate. Instead, he just looked on sadly, a wistful look in his eyes. "Sorry," Scipio muttered, apologising for the second time that day.

"No, no, you're right. Sometimes people _need _persuasion. You're a determined young fellow, I'll give you that. But today of all days…" Victor, strode closer to Scipio, closer to the centrepiece of the room, a magnificent wedding cake adorned with cream and edible flowers. At three feet high, it was more than just a cake. It was a masterpiece.

"Come on, now. We best be going. It's probably a good idea to give the poor girl some breathing space. It can't have been easy for her, what you turning up and then something like _that_ happening. So sad…"

"You're right," Scipio agreed. "It was a mistake coming here. Let's juits go home and forget about it all." He turned to leave, but Victor didn't move. "What?" probed Scipio, frowning slightly.

Victor stroked his bushy moustache, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "What do you say?" he said, eyeing the cake hungrily. "It wouldn't hurt to take a few crumbs for the journey. After all, it's not as if _they're_ going to be needing it."

Scipio smiled back and shot a sideways glance at his partner in crime. "Well, it _would_ be a shame to let it all go to waste…"

"Funny sort of cake," Victor mused. "Look there, where it's all uneven. Ah, well. Beggars can't be choosers." And with that, he scooped a chunk out of soft, creamy cake. Without hesitation, he brought his hand up to his mouth, so he could begin devouring the delectable desert. It made his mouth water just to think of it.

"Wait!" Scipio cried, knocking the piece of cake out o f Victor's hand. His eyes narrowed in outrage, whilst Scipio examined the cake thoroughly, even pausing to sniff a section, before discarding the crumbs on the silver platter. What _was _he doing? thought Victor. Then, without warning, Scipio took off, his long coat trailing behind him.

"What the-" exclaimed Victor, perplexed. "Where are you going?"

***

Dozens of people are crowded round Arrigo's body now, and Greta is still weeping uncontrollably. Her husband tries to console her, but only half heartedly. He sees her distress, and shares it, only in a more furtive way. Why should she put a brave face? What's the point in it all? he wonders. It certainly won't bring their son back. Suddenly the door is flung open, and I find myself once again face to face with the last person I want to see.

"You!" cries out James. "I don't care if you're a friend of Alyssa's. A boy has just died! Can't you give my family some privacy?" Scipio is followed a stout, wheezing an with thinning hair, another familiar face from my past. "And who the hell are you?" James demands.

"Victor Getz at your service," answers Victor weakly, his breathing shallow and heavy. His cheeks are slightly flushed, as if he has been running. "Finder of lost trinkets, possessions, and the occasional misplaced husband."

James stands there, dumbfounded and at a lost for words. "Please, Signor," begs Scipio. "It's urgent."

"I told you, I don't care! Get out of here!" His words are ignored as Scipio barges his way through to Arrigo's body, knocking a confused Greta out of the way. Then, like a madman, he lifts one of Arrigo's hands, rubbing his cold, lifeless fingers and bending down to have a closer look.

"Sorry, Signor. I just had to see… I never introduced myself to you, did I?" James looks at him as though he is crazy.

"I hardly think now is the time!"

"Scipio Massimo, private detective. Victor's right hand man." He holds out a hand for James to shake, which is _not_ accepted.

"Signor!"

"I am sorry to say this, but I think I know why your cousin died. He was poisoned."

Everyone's eyes simultaneously widen in shock. James' lips move soundlessly as he tries to make sense of it all. "But.. What.." he stammers. "What makes you think that?"

"Two things," replies Scipio. "When my colleague-" he gestures towards Victor - "and I were in the banqueting hall, we noticed the cake looked rather worse for wear. There were small segments missing from the bottom, where the inner cake was exposed, uncovered by icing. Either the shoddy work of an unskilled baker or… something else." Our meet for a single second, and I quickly drop my gaze downwards.

"It was like something has been picking at it; there was a single nail imprint on the surrounding area. The handiwork of a hungry rat, perhaps? Not quite, unless they've suddenly developed the ability to climb tables. No, my guess is that the mark was made by that of a sticky fingered child."

"My Arrigo would never do that!" interjects Greta, but Scipio raises a hand to silence her.

"Then there was the second piece of evidence - Arrigo's body. As I'm sure you'll, if you look a little more closely, there's a smudge of cream on his right cheek, and crumbs on his fingers and trousers." I snuck a glance at Arrigo's corpse. I hadn't noticed it before, but Scipio was right. I didn't know had long I'd been unconscious, but my passing must have caused some commotion. It would have been easy for an impatient seven year old to slip out and sneak into the hall to satisfy his sweet cravings.

"But that's preposterous! To think we thought we could trust the Mozzicatos to deliver high quality food to us… What kind of company are they running?" Scipio shook his head.

"No, no. Pardon me, Signor de Luca, but your family doesn't seem the sort to employ negligent bakers. Besides, you've been using the company for years, and not once have they been found guilty of food poisoning. No, this is something bigger."

"You mean my poor Arrigo was murdered?" wails Greta, fresh tears welling up. "But who would want him dead?"

To my surprise, Scipio stares at _me_, his stone face expressionless, like a mask. Yet I know he doesn't see me. His eyes are blank and I can almost picture the cogs moving in his head as things slot into place. He's deep in thought, far too deep to notice to surroundings. They are blind to him, so wrapped up is he.

"Precisely…" he says, eyes unblinking. "Signor, your family are very big on traditions, si?"

"Yes, but I fail to see how-"

"De Luca weddings are practically tradition heaven, are they not? Please, tell me who is always the first to eat the cake?"

"Why, the bride, of course. But again, I fail to see-"

Scipio turns to me again, looking both serious and troubled. This time, I fail to keep the years of restrained emotion under control.

"Scipio, just leave it will you?" I snapp, much to the James' confusion. "You come in here and you ruin my wedding day. Was that not enough for you? What more do you want from me?"

He says nothing. My mouth hangs open in disbelief as I wonder if I've finally gotten through to him. I doubt it. Everyone is staring at me, wondering who this mysterious stranger from my past could possibly be. They know nothing of him, have never heard a single whisper about him. Why would they? The places where people talk of him are not sophisticated enough for the likes of _them_ to dwell in.

"Denny… The cake… It wasn't meant for Arrigo. Who on earth would want him dead? No, of course he wasn't the intended victim. It was meant for _you."_


	4. The Morning After the Night Before

**Sorry for the delay in uploading - the good news is I'm more focused than ever, and the last few chapters are actually finished, so hopefully you'll have to wait less time between chapters. (Key word being hopefully.) Loyal readers will notice this isn't actually a new chapter, but it needed to be edited to make the story run more smoothly.**

_Morning arrived quickly. Bright shafts of sunlight broke through the flimsy curtains which covered the dirty cracked windows of the Stella, blinding the girl as she opened her eyes groggily. Where was she? In a moment of madness, an odd thought entered her head: perhaps she had died. Was she in heaven or in hell, she wondered dreamily. Snippets of conversation drifted up from below:_

"_Someone's here early today," a gentle voice - a girl's - remarked dryly. "Have you even combed your hair today?"_

"_Get off!" snapped another voice irritably. _His _voice. "Stop fussing, Hornet." There was a short silence and then he spoke again, softer this time. "Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night. And anyway, someone's got to check you lot haven't killed the guest yet."_

"_Oh all right, but I don't see why you don't just spend the night here, like the rest of us, Scip," muttered the girl - Hornet? - darkly._

"_I told you - it's Scipio," her friend sighed._

_The girl barely remembered anything, except for a jumble of blurry faces and indistinct words. Adjusting her eyes to the harsh light, the girl took in her surroundings. She appeared to be in a small, dilapidated room which looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Beneath her lay an assortment of old blankets and clothes - some of which were riddled with holes - and the faint smell of forgotten memories and clung to them. The room appeared to be some sort of storage unit, for several pieces of abandoned paraphernalia - including, bizarrely a large letter S - were scattered haphazardly on the dusty carpet. Upon one set of wooden drawers which were missing two of its knobs, a gold pocket watch and a pearl necklace in pristine condition sat proudly, glistening in the bright morning light. They seemed oddly exquisite compared to the other objects in the room. _

_Absent-mindedly, the girl put a hand on her chest to clutch her own locket. It wasn't there. Gripped with fear, she nervously began stroking her collarbone, as if by doing so, she could make the locket magically materialise. It was of great value to her. She pulled herself up, but slumped back down again as the pain jolted within her and she was forced to move back down. The girl groaned quietly and then, like an avalanche, all memories of the past forty eight hours came flooding back._

_The girl had to get out of here. Fast. She was not safe here - the only way to be free was to find her deceased mother, who surely was looking for her at this very moment in time. She just didn't know where to look. Trust nobody, her mother had told her, a principle which had proven to be wise time and time again. After picking up her bag and quickly slinging it over her shoulder, the girl began searching through every drawer, every nook, every cranny in the room as quickly as she could, for fear she might have simply misplaced it, even though she had taken it off since the day her mother had fastened it around her neck._

_She was so busy she didn't hear the sound of footsteps as the Thief Lord approached the room, and only noticed when the door was flung open. "Going somewhere?" he asked, eying the bag hanging precariously on the girl's back._

"_I can't stay here."_

"_I can't make you stay. But you should know… I can help you." His face was earnest, his voice sincere, but still, a feeling of unease crept up the girl's spine._

"_Well, you're wrong. No one can help me - what makes you any different?"_

"_Suit yourself," said Scipio coolly, digging into her trouser pocket. "But I suppose you won't want this then…" He lifted his arm until it was level with his head, dangling a long chain on which a gold heart hung. _

"_You had no right to take that," interjected the girl angrily. "It's mine."_

"_Pardon my saying, but one of your … attire, does not normally possess such a valuable item."_

"_I'm not a thief, if that's what you're saying."_

"_Your early activities would suggest otherwise. One o'clock, Azalea Square - ring any bells?"_

_The girl blushed at her earlier exploits. She had had no intention of stealing off anyone - her mother had bought her up with a strong sense of right and wrong - but she'd been so cold and hungry. The stark reality had very different to her expectation on Venice. She had had hoped to reinvent herself here, find a new identity, but people had just looked at her the same way they had always done: with suspicion, their accusing eyes saying what their mouths would never dare say._

"_Give it back," demanded the girl, stretching out to snatch it back. As she did so, she strained the sight of the stab, forcing her to double up, and she clutched her wound. Scipio lifted the necklace higher still. He was a good few inches taller than the girl and she could no longer reach it, even if she had not been in unbearable agony. He then swayed the locket, swinging it in a pendulum motion, so that it caught the sunlight, taunting her._

"_I'm afraid I can't do that. I've got a bunch of children down there that need feeding. I think this should cover what you took from me."_

_Frustrated at the Thief Lord's games, the girl attempted to grab hold of the necklace once more, but the fine chain The first tears already preparing to fall, the girl pushed pass Scipio angrily and ran down the stairs and out the door, ignoring the wound which tugged and pulled at her insides, coiling its fiery tendrils around everything it touched._


End file.
